Made a last-minute decision to see The Monads, Bob Log III and Scott H. Biram at Off Broadway last night, or allowed it to be made for me. Topher was going anyway, and I didn't really have anything better to do, but balanced against Sunday evening laziness it was still a close decision. Eventually I decided that I needed to use a different background occasionally for my daily picture than the chair in the corner, which tipped the scales in favor of going along; it seemed easier than carrying all my crap into the basement.
The Monads were totally not the band I was expecting, but they were pretty cool nevertheless. They're certainly the best local bluegrass punk outfit I've seen. The really impressive act was Bob Log III, a one-man band, death cyclist and born showman. I like to think that under that helmet he looks like David Carradine from a bad '70's movie, but perhaps he just wears it because it drives the ladies wild. Getting two women to sit on his knees while playing the kick drum is not just an impressive feat of seduction but also of rhythm, but the real coup is live
Boob Scotch (NSFW video). By the time Scott H. Biram came on, I was going to need something with a stronger beat than his peculiar brand of psychotic hellbilly gospel to keep me moving, so I spent the bulk of the show outside with a PBR and a cigarette.
Somebody used to tell me all the time, "You have a cute smile when you're drunk." I'm still not sure I see what she meant, unless by cute you mean 'slightly goofy.' The vague look of dementia around the eyes may be due to the shot of absinthe I had, or it may just be the onset of a serious psychiatric problem. I'm also not sure if I'd prefer to believe that my face is that shiny due to the little bit of drinking I did or the little bit of dancing I did. Maybe its just bad lighting, or bad skin care.
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